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[creativesnehalshop]

NYC Tee

All tips t shirt available

[blily2023]

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[holygladiatorfox]

Women's shirt

About product

This cute Cat Baby Tee is made of 100% organic cotton, printed with a vibrant design using Direct-to-Film (DTF) technology. The slim fit is flattering and comfortable, perfect for cat lovers and those looking for a unique addition to their wardrobe. Ideal for casual wear, lounging at home, or as a gift for animal lovers on birthdays or holidays.

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[teganwatson22]

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[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

"cold feet (literally)" - spencer reid x fem!reader

you wake up in the middle of the night to get a pair of socks

wc: 1k

cw: reader is described as wearing a bra, sickeningly sweet fluff, two idiots in love

Spencer keeps his apartment climate-controlled at a brisk sixty-eight degrees Fahrenheit. He likes to be cold, he says, and you generally don’t mind. You run hot anyway, so if, on the off chance you do get cold when you’re lounging around on his couch or perusing his bookshelves, you grab one of the throw blankets Garcia’s knitted for him and wrap it around your shoulders. 

Tonight is different, in that you were not planning on sleeping over. Your relationship with Spencer works so well, in your opinion, because you both like to be independent, so rather than be with each other every moment of every day that he’s home, you orbit around each other like planets. You spend many evenings over at his place, and he spends just as many as yours, but eventually, the other person goes home. 

Not that you didn’t like sleeping in the same bed as Spencer, of course, but the relationship was still fresh, and you both liked that you were taking things slow. Tonight, however, you started a movie with him rather late, and by the time it was over, you were bleary-eyed and your bones felt laden. Spencer was more than willing to offer you the empty side of his bed for the night. 

You arrived in sweatpants and a t-shirt, so you just took your bra off and laid down. Spencer splurged on a fancy orthopedic mattress, so you somehow both sunk into it and rested on top of it like a glass on a table. It was insanely comfortable, and both you and Spencer really were wiped out, so you went right to sleep. 

When your eyes flutter open a few hours, you’re laying on your side. The first thing you notice is that the room is not completely dark. No, in fact, there’s a stream of moonlight, or maybe a street lamp outside, creeping in through the curtains, casting a soft, gray-filtered glow over the room. 

You feel Spencer’s hand loosely on your hip, and his knee resting lightly against the back of your thigh. Your immediate reaction is not to move for fear of waking him, but your feet are icicles. The air around you is cold, too, but the blankets remedy that. You just need socks. 

I am molasses, you coach yourself, moving languidly and carefully to rise into a sitting position. However, you lack the FBI stealth training needed to rise out of bed without waking your boyfriend, because when you look over your shoulder, his eyes are very clearly open. 

There’s a tired yet playful little smirk as he sits up, leaning against the headboard. “Sneaking out already?” he asks, his voice still rich and thick with sleep, and you suddenly wish you’re able to see him like this more often. Maybe this whole going home to go to sleep thing is simply for the birds. 

“No, of course not,” you laugh softly. The mattress creaks as you finally stand up, your bare toes spreading against the soft carpet. As you pad over to his dresser, you shoot him a performative smile over your shoulder. “My feet are just freezing.” 

“Do you want me to adjust the thermostat?” Spencer asks immediately, shifting the blankets off of him so he can, presumably, get out of the bed. 

“No, no, it’s okay,” you insist, holding up your hand. He stops in his place. “It’s just my feet, Spence,” you assure him. The cherry wood creaks when you tug the top drawer open, plucking the first pair of socks you see out off the top. 

Spencer’s mismatched socks are meticulously organized in their correct pairs, as it turns out. You smile to yourself when you realize this means he takes the time each day to couple up an incorrect pair of socks before putting them on his feet. 

You select a pair of purple ones with little kiwi fruits printed on them, affection for the ridiculous man in bed behind you bubbling up in your chest, making it feel as if it’s filled with helium. Like you could float up to the ceiling at any moment. 

You’re still smiling stupidly as you perch yourself on the edge of the bed. You slide his socks over your bare feet, wiggling your toes around for a moment. “Why are you smiling, angel?” Spencer’s asking curiously, and you feel his foot nudge your back. 

You lie back down in the bed, shaking your head softly as you lay on your side and place your head against Spencer’s chest. He takes a second to adjust, slinking down so he’s lying flat on his back, then he tugs you a little closer. 

Your cheek rubs against the soft, worn fabric of his t-shirt. You place your palm down against his flat tummy, and consequently feel his chin press into the top of your head. “What is it?” he asks again. 

“I just think you’re the bee’s knees, that’s all,” you say softly, earning a small chirp of a laugh from your boyfriend. 

“The bee’s knees, huh?” he rakes his fingers through your hair slowly. The action is lulling you like straight melatonin, making you even more tired. “Did you know that phrase actually used to mean something small and insignificant? Over time it developed to refer to something or someone that is greatly admired.” 

You close your eyes, your body relaxing against him as he speaks. “Do bees even have knees?” you ask through a yawn. 

“Technically speaking, no,” Spencer brushes his thumb along your temple, then across the top of your ear, as if he is charting all the smooth parts of you. “But they do have a ball-and-socket joint between their leg segments, which allows them the flexibility to move their little legs around. So when they dance to show their hive mates where the good honey is, they move their legs around.” He laughs softly at this notion, and you feel your weight sink into the mattress. 

“You make me want to dance,” you whisper, smiling with closed eyes against his chest. “So, you’re the bee’s knees.” 

Spencer hums fondly in response to this, then kisses your forehead. “That’s kind of a reach, angel,” he says. “But I think you’re the cat’s pajamas, so who am I to judge?”

[themidnighttee]

Store For Indie Graphic Tees and Organic Tote Bags - The Midnight Tee The Midnight Tee is an online store that offers artist-designed tees, organic tote bags, and more. We use cotton from around the world and eco-friendly inks to create some awesome products that you will love!

[gurugirl]

Boss!harry | series preview

This is a Patreon-only series!

Summary: Harry's your boss and you're trying really hard not to develop feelings for him.

Warning: This is an angsty series y'all!

His warm hand smoothed over your hip and curled around your side as he scooted in closer.

You weren't sure what to expect when he'd wake up. You thought maybe he'd be right back to business, take you back to your car so you could go home and get yourself ready for the day. You hadn't expected that he'd be kissing up the column of your neck to your jaw with hot puffs of breath falling from his mouth and spreading over your skin slowly like melting wax.

You also hadn't expected your body's immediate reaction to him. The liquid heat pooling between your naked thighs and the way your nipples tightened underneath the cotton of his t-shirt. When he slid his hand underneath the fabric and up your tummy to your breast you rattled a moan that sounded like desperation. The way he squeezed around your sensitive tits was something you had no idea you needed. He practically worshiped your nipples and the soft plush skin of your breasts the night before.

The blankets tangled around your ankle as you rolled to your side to face him and he pulled you in by your thigh, pressing your naked core against his morning wood.

Fuck.

It was one thing to have a wild night with your excruciatingly handsome boss, but it was another to do it again upon waking before you were meant to be at work and pretending like nothing had happened.

Pretending. You could pretend. You'd have to because he made it clear the night before that this wasn't a thing. That this was just sex and you'd need to keep it quiet. That it wasn't going to happen again. It couldn't.

Which meant the way he touched you was just sex, just something for that moment. The way the remnants of his palm prints burned into your skin left behind something that would turn hollow and bitter the moment you left his front door made your stomach curl into itself.

You swallowed down the loss before it had even arrived. A one-night stand with your boss was a bad idea and this was why. Harry would be fine after (he could have anyone he wanted) and you'd be left reeling and abandoned. Again. Because this is what men did. You were only good for as long as they saw fit. And after this, Harry wouldn't want or need anything more from you. Why would he?

"Y/n…" he breathed your name against your lips, "Already shaking and I've barely touched you, baby. God I just wanna eat you alive."

He would eat you alive too. Chew you up and spit you right back out. But you wouldn't stop him from doing it. You couldn't stop it because if that's all it could be you'd take the last bits of what he'd offer and be on your way.

It was a sleepy morning, hazy, blurry, soft… Harry's hands and his tongue worked down your body until he'd found your pussy and he slowly, lazily ate you out until you were coming and crying.

And that time, when he fucked into you, it was slow and steady. Slippery wet. Your bare breasts were pressed into his chest as he licked into your mouth and the embers grew and sparked until they caught and your body was at the edge of surrender.

"Fuck your pussy feels just right," he groaned as he dragged himself through your walls, coating himself in your arousal, your scent.

You whimpered and stuffed your fingers into his hair as he ground his pelvis into your clit. The perfect angle, the perfect cock. Too bad he wasn't the perfect man. You couldn't have him. For obvious reasons.

Your throaty moans were swallowed by his mouth, his length smashing into your guts with a wet slapping sound as you both moved together as one. Sex and sweat and heat and the imprint of desire.

He was soft; his words, his cadence, his hands… but the thick and heavy organ moving into your tummy was anything but soft; stiff, masculine, and rigid, it stretched your insides wide open. He needed the room and your body accommodated every inch of him. Gushy.

When he spoke against your ear, the hitch in his voice was almost whiny, like he was the one who was going to feel the loss. Like he was going to be left hollow and you were the one eating him alive, "Baby… shit. Right there?" He nudged into you and stilled himself so you could feel what he meant. Right there. Yes. Right there. Tight and spongy, the pulse emanating from your cunt was wrapped around him, a rhythmic beating that tremored down through his cock and into the veins and nerve endings. Connected.

You stuffed down the dribble of emotion that swelled in your throat and threatened to break from your waterline.

It's just sex. You're a sexual being who needed a good release. It's just sex. You don't need him. It's. Just. Sex.

But it certainly didn't just feel like sex when his soft green irises found your gaze and he held it as he languidly rocked into you. He dotted kisses along your face and then he'd watch you for a moment and it was going to have you mixed up because it was so intimate. So tender of him.

Maybe if he'd flip you around and fuck you from behind and give you a nice spanking it'd feel like just sex. He'd done that the night before (among other positions). Had you drooling into his mattress as he plowed into you from behind, a couple of good swats on your ass as he said filthy things to you. That felt like just sex. Good sex, but still.

So the soft and slow morning fuck with gentle kisses and an easy, damp tongue over your parted lips, his eyes connected to yours as he moaned and slid his thumb at your temple – that was not just sex and you didn't want it.

Well, you did want it. You really did because you wanted to find someone that would do all those things. But you wanted that for good. Not just for the night.

"Are you okay, Y/n?" Harry sponged a kiss to the edge of your mouth.

"Yeah. I'm okay," you were breathless and on the edge of tears. A ridiculous girl.

"Does it hurt from last night? Was it too much?"

Swallowing you blinked your eyes and he was still softly caressing your face with his thumb like only a lover would do.

"It… a little. I feel fine now. You're so gentle so it's okay."

"That's why I'm being careful. Thought you might need it softer this morning. Are you sure you're okay?"

Too attentive. Too thoughtful. Too present. How were you going to separate your romantic nature from your carnal one? How did all the other women do it? You were sure he was like this with every girl he brought to his bed.

If you'd like to see more consider joining my Patreon if you haven't already! xoxo

[victoriayww]

Stretching for the weekend 🐈💪

This artwork is available as a tote, hoodie or T-shirt at https://victoriayww.myshopify.com/collections/all. Ethically made with fair wage standards and printed on organic cotton. Some items are made in France 🇫🇷

[tipsynight0]

Possessions kiss

Paring - jeff the killer x female reader

Trigger warnings - jealousy, possessiveness, toxic relationship, abuse, blood, broken bones, violence, threats, mature themes.

Synopsis - jeff had a shitty mission and takes it out on toby and (y/n)

Word count - 1.6k

A uthors note - I’m sorry but I like making this man angsty as hell, I dont condone this type of behaviour I just simply write it. It is creepypasta after all and Jeff is quite the character to begin with. Anyway, thank you for the crazy amount of love I’ve been receiving. I’m just doing this shit for pure therapeutic reasons and I’m glad so many of you are enjoying it <<3

Three agonizing days of trudging through the bitter cold, snow whipping against his face, and all for nothing. The target—Jeff’s kill—was already dead. Worse, the one who stole his thunder was Toby, the jittering, stuttering pain in his ass who always managed to get under his skin. Jeff’s fists clenched at the thought, knuckles whitening against the cold. The icy wind wasn’t the only thing making his blood run hot.

He slammed the mansion door behind him, the crack of wood against wood echoing through the empty halls. His boots were caked in snow and mud, leaving wet, dirty prints on the floor as he kicked them off carelessly. His jaw was set in a hard line, his breath coming out in heavy puffs, like a storm waiting to break. No one was around to witness the brooding fury that seemed to radiate off him in waves, but that didn’t calm the growing rage gnawing at his insides.

With heavy steps, he trudged up the stairs, the quiet of the mansion only amplifying his agitation. His body ached from the cold, the kind of bone-deep chill that even a steaming hot shower wouldn’t cure, but it wasn’t just the cold that was bothering him. Toby had taken what was rightfully his. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the house was too quiet—too still.

Where the hell was (Y/N)?

His mind reeled as he reached the bathroom, his jaw tightening as he entered. Immediately, the familiar scent of her perfume hit him. Sweet, delicate, floral. Completely at odds with the chaos inside him. It clung to everything she touched, an irritating reminder of how she had woven herself into his life.

Jeff’s lip curled in frustration. Her meticulously organized row of perfumes, skincare bottles, and other girly shit cluttered the counter. He reached out and, with a sweep of his hand, shoved her things aside, not caring where they fell. They tumbled over each other, bottles clinking as they scattered in disarray. A petty victory, but one that briefly sated the growing anger inside him.

But it wasn’t enough.

As he brushed his teeth, he leaned over the sink, his eyes narrowing at his reflection. Tired, bloodshot eyes stared back at him, but what irritated him more was how (Y/N) had her toothbrush placed so perfectly beside his. How her towels were neatly folded while his were haphazardly thrown around the room. He couldn’t stand the neatness, the way she tried to bring order to the chaos that was his life. So, after rinsing his mouth, he spat a thick wad of toothpaste directly into the sink, leaving it there like a challenge. She’d have no choice but to clean it up, and that small, spiteful act brought a ghost of a smile to his lips.

Still, something gnawed at him—a tension in the air that wouldn’t let up. As he pulled on a plain black T-shirt and flannel pants, the mansion’s silence felt oppressive, pressing down on him. Something was off. Where was she?

Jeff stepped out into the hallway, his heavy footsteps echoing against the wooden floors. As he moved toward the far end of the house, he noticed something—a muffled sound. Laughter. And not just any laughter—her laughter. It was light, familiar, and it made his gut twist in the worst way.

His steps faltered, his body going rigid as he approached Toby’s door. The closer he got, the more he could hear—(Y/N)’s soft laughter, followed by Toby’s stuttering voice.

Jeff’s grip tightened on the doorknob, a slow burn of anger building inside him, his breaths growing shallow as he peered through the crack in the door. The sight before him was enough to set his blood on fire.

There she was, sitting on the floor, laughing as she held a handful of Uno cards. Toby, his goddamn twitchy, annoying self, was sitting far too close, his body angled toward hers, that stupid grin on his face as he tapped her knee like it was the most natural thing in the world.

That single touch—the light brush of Toby’s hand against (Y/N)’s leg—was all it took. The rage inside Jeff erupted like a tidal wave.

Without thinking, Jeff slammed the door open, the force of it crashing against the wall with a deafening bang. The sudden intrusion sent (Y/N)’s cards scattering across the floor, her laughter immediately dying in her throat as her eyes shot up to meet his. Toby flinched, but before he could even react, Jeff was on him.

“You piece of shit,” Jeff growled, his voice low and dangerous, dripping with venom. In an instant, his hand was wrapped around Toby’s collar, yanking him off the floor with the strength of a man possessed. Toby’s back slammed against the wall, hard enough to rattle the pictures hanging beside him.

Toby’s eyes widened in panic, his stuttering breathing erratic as he raised his hands in a feeble attempt to pry Jeff’s iron grip off his throat. “J-J-Jeff, w-wait—”

But Jeff wasn’t listening. The rage had fully taken over. “First, you take my fucking kill,” he spat, his voice shaking with barely contained fury. He didn’t wait for an answer. His fist flew, connecting with Toby’s jaw in a brutal crunch. Blood immediately gushed from the impact, splattering across the floor and the wall.

“Then you touch my (Y/N)?” Jeff’s voice dropped to a lethal whisper as his fist struck again, this time smashing into Toby’s nose. Blood sprayed from the broken cartilage, Toby’s head snapping back with the force of the blow.

“Jeff! Stop!” (Y/N)’s voice cut through the tension, panicked and sharp as she rushed forward, grabbing his arm. But her grip was small, insignificant against the hurricane that was Jeff. His rage had him in a chokehold, refusing to let go.

Toby’s head lolled to the side, barely conscious, his twitching body sliding down the wall as he let out a pathetic laugh. Jeff’s breath was heavy, his chest rising and falling with each angry exhale, his fists still clenched and dripping with blood—Toby’s blood.

With one last shove, Jeff released Toby, letting him crumple to the ground in a pathetic heap. His body was twitching uncontrollably, a mess of blood, bruises, and broken bones, but Jeff didn’t even spare him another glance. His eyes were solely focused on (Y/N), the object of his rage and his obsession.

“Don’t you fucking speak,” Jeff growled, his voice so low it was almost a hiss. In an instant, his bloodied hand shot out, grabbing (Y/N) by the wrist and yanking her out of the room with brutal force. She stumbled, her feet dragging across the floor as she cast one last glance at Toby, who lay crumpled on the floor in his blood-soaked mess.

The hallway seemed to stretch out endlessly as Jeff dragged her toward their shared room, his grip tight and unyielding. He slammed the door behind them with enough force to make the walls shake.

(Y/N) stood there, arms crossed over her chest, her expression a mixture of fury and disbelief. “What the hell was that for, Jeff?” she demanded, her voice shaking with a combination of fear and anger.

Jeff didn’t answer right away. Instead, he stalked toward her like a predator cornering its prey, his dark eyes locked on hers, dangerous and filled with a possessive hunger. His breath was still labored, his damp hair clinging to his forehead, but his gaze never wavered.

Without warning, he grabbed her by the throat. His grip was firm, not quite enough to cut off her air supply, but tight enough to make her feel the threat in every breath. He leaned in close, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he spoke in a low, deadly voice.

“Next time, I’ll break his hand,” Jeff hissed, his words sharp as a blade. “Do you think anyone gets to touch you but me?”

(Y/N)’s pulse raced under his grip, her breath catching in her throat as his possessive words sank in. She swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper as she tried to respond. “You’re being—”

Before she could finish, Jeff’s grip tightened just enough to make her gasp. His smirk was dark and dangerous as he tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze head-on. “You’re lucky I don’t strangle you right now,” he whispered, his lips brushing against hers in a maddening tease. “You’re lucky I fucking love you.”

Then, in a move so sudden it made her head spin, Jeff’s lips crashed down on hers in a brutal kiss, all teeth and dominance. He bit down hard on her bottom lip, the metallic taste of blood filling both their mouths as she winced from the sharp pain. But before she could protest, his tongue swept over the bite, claiming her in the most possessive way possible.

His other hand gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him, his body a solid wall of heat and danger. There was no space between them, no room for protest. His kiss was savage, demanding, taking everything he wanted, leaving her breathless in his wake.

And for Jeff, that’s exactly how it should be.

[creativesnehalshop]

New York Tee

All tips t shirt available

[hussyknee]

Made in the USA: Wage Theft, Fraud and Hidden Sweatshops

Unrolled twitter thread by derek guy (@dieworkwear)

4 Oct 24 • Read on X

ALT enabled on all images. Video has closed captions but is not transcribed.

Not trying to create a pile-on here. But let's talk about why something might still be made in unethical conditions even though it bears a "made in USA" tag. 🧵

The first thing to understand is that not all workers are covered by US labor laws. You might assume that workers get paid a minimum wage (after all, it says "minimum"). In fact, many garment workers in the US toil under what's known as the piecework system.

Piecework means you get paid not by the amount of time you work but the number of operations you complete. This system should be familiar to many of you. As a writer, I get paid per word. The pay is the same whether it takes me 100 or 10 hours to write a 1,000 word article.

My situation is fine bc I get paid enough to eat. But for a garment worker, the pay structure can be peanuts: three cents to sew a zipper or sleeve, five cents for a collar, and seven cents to prepare the top part of a skirt. These are real numbers for LA-based garment workers.

Piecework is how companies skirt minimum wage laws. Among labor organizers, the term "wage theft" refers to the difference between what a worker should have earned under min wage laws and what they actually earned through the piece rate system.

This system is incredibly common. A 2016 UCLA Labor Center study showed the median piece-rate worker in Los Angeles scrapes together $5.15 per hour—less than half the state’s mandated minimum wage. Labor conditions are also very bad: poor ventilation, dusty air, rats and mice.

A Federal Department of Labor investigation the same year found that 85 percent of Los Angeles garment factories were breaking labor laws. In 2016, these violations amounted to $1.3 million in back wages owed to 865 workers in a sample of 77 factories. This is wage theft.

In 2021, labor organizers won a fight to get piecework banned in California. But two years later, it's still incredibly common. I interviewed an LA-based garment worker who toils 12 hrs a day for $50. She sleeps in the corner of a kitchen. From my article in The Nation:

Currently, there's a new fight get piecework banned nationwide through the FABRC Act. I would link, but Twitter throttles threads that have outbound links, so I would prefer if you Google how you can support this legislation. Or follow @GarmentWorkerLA for more info.

The other reason why a "made in USA" tag may not mean much has to do with how the label is applied.

When you see this label inside your garment, what do you assume? Think about this before moving on to the next tweet.

The Federal Trade Commission has pretty strict rules on who gets to apply that label. For clothes, the item has to be cut and sewn in the US using materials that were made in the US. The FTC tries to match its rules with the common understanding of what "made in US" means.

If you're a giant company like Levi's or LL Bean, you may have lawyers who are advising you on these rules. This is why you see labels like "imported," which means the item was made abroad. Or "made in the US from imported materials" when they can't meet the MiUSA standard.

But it's incredibly common for companies to violate FTC rules. In 2022, the FTC fined the pro-Trump brand Lions Not Sheep $211k for labeling their t-shirts "made in USA" when the shirts were actually imported from China and other countries.

The company was basically importing blanks from China, ripping out the "made in China" label, screen printing the shirt in the US, and then applying a new screen-printed "made in US" label. CEO Sean Whalen claimed he was being persecuted for his pro-Trump views.

But the whole thing started bc Whalen made a video about how his customers are price sensitive, so he imports blanks from China. That's what kicked off the FTC investigation. So while this mislabeling is common, it's hard to get caught unless you make a video about your crimes.

The truth is that making a t-shirt in the USA according to FTC standards will result in a relatively expensive garment. Heddels and Velva Sheen both produce shirts in the US from US grown cotton. The first is $26; second is $90 for a two-pack.

Once you add things such as screenprinting—or if you want a more unique cut and not just basic blanks—the costs go up. This is why Bikers for Trump sourced their merch from Haiti. They knew their customers would not pay an extra $8 for true made-in-USA production.

Today, there are countless companies that make merch for other organizations. They source their t-shirts from a variety of places—some made in the US, most not—and then screenprint a design and fulfill orders. This way, the other org doesn't have to do any work but marketing.

When you see a screenprinted t-shirt for $20, ask yourself: Where was the material grown? Where were the yarns spun? Where was the cutting, sewing, and finishing performed? Where was the screenprinted done? What were the wages and labor conditions along these steps?

I'm not a nationalist, so I don't prioritize American jobs over foreign ones. But I do care about fair wages and labor protections. Just because something was made abroad doesn't mean it was made in a sweatshop. Just because it was made in the US doesn't mean fair wages.

Paying more for a garment is also no guarantee of ethical manufacturing. But when the price of a garment is so low, you leave little on the table for workers. Just because you see a $20 t-shirt that says "made in USA" doesn't mean it was made fairly.

Please don't harass the person who posted that original tweet. My intention is not to cause harm or stress for anyone. Only to help shed light on what goes into garment manufacturing, fair labor, and labeling. Hopefully, you will consider these issues when shopping.

For the inevitable question: "How do I make sure my clothes were made ethically?" This is very difficult to answer in a thread. My simplest answer is that we should elect pro-worker politicians, fight for pro-labor laws, and empower unions so workers can advocate for themselves.

--------------------End----------------------

TL; DR: Doesn't matter if it's the US, if it's not union it's probably a sweatshop. And not all merch is priced high because of fair labour conditions (looking at Taylor Swift and Beyoncé). Look for supply chain transparency.

[fashionlouist]

Louis is wearing a Casablanca Paris L'Arc Coloré T-Shirt in Black on stage at Zürich Open Air.

The L'Arc Coloré t-shirt is a short-sleeve design featuring the arch print in a pastel gradient colourway of orange, yellow, pink, green and blue. Crafted from organic cotton, complete with a classic ribbed crew neck and designed for a relaxed fit.

[artytaeh]

OH I READ YOUR POST WRONG, I THOUGHT IT WAS JUST ABOUT HANDMADE GIFTS

ahem, correcting myself

mattheo would love funny gifts, the ones that mean a inside joke from both of you or that are simply silly and funny to both of you

regulus would love receive new books that he never even knew about, and I fear he would ask you to read out to him (and forcing you to have voices to each character!)

blaise would love getting clothes, especially If they are a silly little sweater that you crocheted, or those 'i love my girlfriend' t-shirts, If you printed your face all over on a shirt he would wear it proudly 🫡

flowers would be cute but mattheo riddle, to me, has such a hard time giving gifts to other people he cares about.

flowers are cool and sweet— but what if you're allergic to these specific flowers and you don't know about it? what if you dislike these the most?

alright, then maybe clothes— no, he might get you something that you'll hate, and wear it out of pity. then, maybe a plushie? or some sort of jewelry? mattheo panics that you'll secretly hate them too. he's terribly insecure about it.

( theodore and lorenzo came to hogsmeade with him in the morning once, to offer some emotional support. they only left hogsmeade late at evening, because theodore was ten seconds away from punching mattheo— almost dinner time, and mattheo fucking riddle is still picking a bloody gift. even lorenzo had given up on helping him. 😭✋ )

so really, i think that mattheo would find safety on getting gifts that only the two of you understand. besides, your laughter is his favorite sound; so it's a win-win situation! he feels less insecure about gifting you something that makes you laugh.

and mattheo absolutely loves to receive these gifts too, like you said! he'd have a whole shelf dedicated to it, i promise you.

⭑ ⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪻 ’

you cannot tell me that regulus wouldn't have a full bookshelf organized by color or alphabetical order. screw that, regulus would have his own complex way to neatly organize his books, a system that he had told you about, and quite frankly— after ten minutes of passionate explanation, as if organizing them that way was logical, you...

... you failed to understand it at all. but smile and nod, guys. smile and nod.

i feel like the habit you mentioned — having regulus requesting you to read out loud for him — would start as a way to compromise. as in, this situation was the way you found to solve an argument.

reading is something that regulus enjoys a lot; if you argued that he rarely spent time with you, regulus would try to mix both pleasures together— his reading time, and the quality time he spends with you, his beloved.

besides, he loves your voice. would give you a book, and lay his head on your chest (be it laying on top of you on his stomach, or resting his back on your torso, body between your legs, half-reading the paragraphs as well).

would be such a brat about it too. doesn't have any shame to show his exigency regarding his reading experience.

regulus: not like that. that voice doesn't suit her character, it's supposed to sound elegant.

reader: but i—

regulus: and she has an accent too. it was mentioned two chapters ago, so you have to make an accent too.

⭑ ⋯ ⋯ ﹒ 🪻 ’

once again you're so right about blaise. i feel like that man would leave his bed, sweatpants and a tshirt that proudly states: I ︎♥︎ MY GIRLFRIEND, with a heart shaped photo of the two of you.

the stares he receives from his friends. it's even funnier because blaise looks completely unbothered— if he notices the look on their faces, he'll smile smugly at them: 'what, jealous?', and will call them loveless & bitchless if one. single. mean. comment. leaves their mouths.

would have a mug with your face printed there. even better if blaise finds a way to add multiple photos to the same mug. the proudest boyfriend ever, wants everyone to know that you date him, and that he's obsessed with his mamas.

now, crocheted blankets or sweaters are his treasures. should the slytherin common room be endangered, blaise takes your crocheted stuff before he leaves. would lose it if you had sprayed your perfume on a blanket you crocheted— my man won't ever wash it.

on your last ask you mentioned that blaise is really into music! so imagine having you crocheting those two green leaves (help idk how to explain it. 💔) that people put on their headphones. blaise would beam with that.

[allsadnshit]

Folded, organized, and packed up allllll my cursed girl t shirts, made and printed my first shipping labels for my dad and my brother's, and even though there a couple different moments of frustration and panic around doing something for the first time I am now feeling proud and did NOT have a mental break down about it I persevered and listened to silly little podcast and had a nice congee breakfast!!!

[themidnighttee]

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[sexisdisgusting]

Hello I'm Lenka Stojanovic, welcome to my blog

i'm a balkan ex-muslim lesbian woman in my 20s and a big scary radfem. if that threatens you, block me. my blog is crypto safe (if you're crypto, follow only if you want—your safety is my priority).

this is mainly a radfem blog, but i also post funnies and things i find pretty/cool. if you're wondering why i followed you and you're not a radfem blog, that's why.

i LOVE being spammed with reblogs and likes, so please don't feel afraid to do so!!

i identified as "trans/nonbinary" for years before reclaiming my womanhood, and i'm so happy i did (it's never too late). there's no "right" or "wrong" way to be a woman. i was a huge trans activist for years before realizing it doesn't and will never benefit me despite their lies. i don't argue with tras—go kick rocks and debate with the mirror, loser.

i post free pdfs, resources, graphics, and everything else of the sort on this blog. feel free to explore and read—it's not illegal despite what you've been made to think (#useful).

any designs i create and post on this blog are entirely free for personal and commercial use. i don't want or require credit—do whatever your heart desires with them (create pins, t-shirts, print them out, sell them, anything!! idc!) (#my designs).

though i do have some hashtags i regularly use to keep things somewhat organized, in general, i don't use tags a lot, if ever.

my blog is open to any and all women, even the trans-identified ones. you are all welcome here and i love you (in other terms, my blog is open to all "afabs," even "transmen" and those who are "nonbinary"). if you're on the fence or reconsidering things, you're safe here, i promise.

also, i don't live in america, so my perspective might be different from what you're used to.

it sometimes takes me a while to reply (i.e. days, weeks...) to my messages because my life can get busy at times, but rest assured i will get back to you, and love chatting!! (i sometimes also just come on here to feverishly reblog but don't have the energy to converse, i hope you understand). i don't always reply to every reply on my posts because sometimes there's nothing else left to say! you've summed it up perfectly! but i LOVE reading all replies!!!

my messages are only on for mutuals, and asks are completely off. sometimes i'll turn on asks for an hour or two before turning them back off. on that note, any of my beloved regular anonitas i had, i implore thee to make side accounts so we can chat because i really miss you all, though my asks aren't coming back full time any time soon.

there are more trans activists/trans people turned radfems than there are radfems turned trans activists/trans people—think about why that is.

you're not the only one who thinks these thoughts, i promise you there are SO many women who think the same as you. you just haven't found them yet, or they're in hiding.

i love you! mua!! xx

i also have a sideblog in case things go awry (i get banned for being too wild) and that side blog is: sexisforeverdisgusting